


ghosts & other sad things

by maderilien



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied Past CT-7567 | Rex/Anakin Skywalker, M/M, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28882389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maderilien/pseuds/maderilien
Summary: For some reason, Boba Fett does not seem to fear him. Darth Vader investigates further.
Relationships: Boba Fett/Darth Vader
Comments: 24
Kudos: 67





	ghosts & other sad things

The bounty hunter stands by the door, the tip of his boots barely crossing over the threshold. His presence in the Force is calm.

No. 

Not calm. 

Indifferent, perhaps.

Indifferent to being in such proximity to the Dark Lord of the Sith, unlike every other creature with reason and a modicum of self-preservation on this Imperial-class Star Destroyer.

As much as he tells himself he doesn't actually care, the sliver of fascination gets past Vader’s defenses and burrows itself in his mind despite his best efforts. Why isn't this bounty hunter cowering in fear?

He sidesteps the officer holding the meeting. It's not like he's listened to a single word of her speech, when there are more interesting things to focus on in the room.

The officer’s voice wavers, not even considering being angry at the interruption. They have all learned to fear him and to respect him, to vanish at the mere sight of his black armour.

Where the Dark Lord passes, the path clears before him in the blink of an eye.

The indifference persists with the bounty hunter even when Vader stops by the door.

"Another task, Lord Vader?" Fett asks, merely tilting his helmet toward him.

There is nothing noteworthy about this man. Nothing special at all, and yet…

The bounty hunter shifts on his feet, finally giving a sign of discomfort, but doesn't comment further.

Disappointing, but a smart decision in the end.

Darth Vader walks past him out the door, his cloak billowing behind him with a little bit of help. When it comes to cultivating his menacing image, the Force contributes to more than simply choking the disloyal.

* * *

The next time the Empire has need of the bounty hunter's skill, Darth Vader schedules Fett's arrival with great intent: a mere handful of minutes after the reporting officer for the Albarrio sector is due to give the report. The Empire's work in that area is substandard, and for several months now the Empire has been supplying the troops there with plenty of resources, only to garner no results. It will undoubtedly require a more effective method of persuasion, since strongly worded orders no longer seem to have any impact on these imperial officers. Darth Vader will not miss an opportunity to reinforce his status and, at the same time, show Fett what he is capable of.

Unfortunately, when the time comes for his master plan to be put in motion, Darth Vader listens with surprise (and disappointment) as the officer lists their accomplishments.

"The last batch of rhydonium was used to bypass the final obstacles between our machinery and the buried temple on planet F-32. We now have full access to the artefacts, and are in the process of extracting them according to the schedule."

Perhaps uncharacteristically, Darth Vader speaks. Neutrally, even though he feels it reproachful in his mind, he points out: "Your last report indicated a severe lack of progress at both the dig site and the retrieval of data from the local archives. Fifteen kilometers of rock between you and the artefacts."

"Yes, sir! We have solved these problems and are fully on track, sir."

Darth Vader dearly wants to hit something.

Of all the times for things to work out for the Empire…

He turns around and walks away without another word, heading to his personal quarters on the ship. Fury follows him cold, parting the crowd before him, and leaving those behind breathless with terror. He doesn't stop his march until he faces the large screen installed in his quarters, opened to reveal the black nothingness of dead space.

A minute or two pass in this fashion, with him caught in meditation, immersed in the cosmic flow of the Force as if no sheet of glass separated him from the universe.

No matter what it is used for, the Force comes to him naturally, like a familiar friend. In his hands, it becomes his most powerful ally—his only ally.

The slightest of disturbances in the air is enough to make him turn on his comlink and connect with the bridge. Before the guard on duty even gets to announce the arrival of Boba Fett, Vader commands that the bounty hunter be shown to his quarters at once. Simply staying one step ahead of these simple imperials is enough to keep them shaking in their boots. 

He must figure out what makes this armoured man so immune to him. It could prove a fatal flaw, should Fett ever think to disobey. He must be brought in line, just like everybody else.

"I have arrived," Boba Fett says through the intercom.

Darth Vader opens the door with a simple flick of his hand, not bothering to cross the distance from the window.

"Report."

"Target neutralised, stolen data retrieved successfully." Fett takes out a small electronic device from one of the pouches secured to his belt. Wordlessly, he presents it to Darth Vader with his palm outstretched.

Vader lets the Force build up around them for no purpose except to show it off, like a weight added to the air, and as he floats the device across the room to his own waiting palm, he knows this particular heavy presence unsettles his officers the most, so he watches Fett sharply through his visor, studying his every move.

There is no reaction.

"I need a _thorough_ report, bounty hunter," Darth Vader snaps. Anger colours the air around him again. It burns from the inside.

"There is nothing significant to report, unless you want to know how much the fuel cost m—Ah!" Fett clutches at his throat, where tendrils of the Force bridge the space between them and gather around him in the shape of a hand on his skin.

"Do not waste my time, Fett."

He lets the man choke on his own spit half a minute longer, then releases him.

Fett coughs a few times, then says, voice hoarse and thin, "There were no witnesses. I disposed of the body in an asteroid field one system over." He pauses to cough again and to clear his throat. "I reached the target before the target made contact with the Rebels. The only copy of the information on that data disk is in your hands, Lord Vader."

"Do not presume to know what is or isn't significant to me," Darth Vader intones icily.

Boba Fett straightens his posture, adopting his brand of professionalism like the last minutes never happened.

"Understood, sir."

A phantom pain overtakes him upon hearing these words, the reminder of a wound deep inside his chest. A wound he's almost forgotten about—until now.

"I will not be as merciful next time," Vader warns him. Anger still rolls inside of him, but it is at himself he is angry now. It doesn't burn anymore—it drowns.

The bounty hunter stays put, waiting for orders. There is nothing Vader can read on him, except the ease with which he falls back on his indifference.

Vader’s voice modulator masks many thoughts. The slow, regular cadence is not one he picked for his speech, but one he has been saddled with against his will. It's a good asset to have now, when the thought that he is alone in his emotional involvement almost makes him choke the light out of Fett's eyes until the man cowers in fear. 

"Leave," Vader says pointedly, betraying none of that turmoil.

Boba Fett obeys without protest.

The sound of his voice haunts Vader far longer than he admits even to himself.

* * *

The life of the Emperor’s right hand is difficult and busy beyond belief, as it should be, in fact, if one considers how large their dominion is and how far their influence must reach to keep things under control. Beside his endless tasks, Vader also has to deal with rebel incursions popping up in various parts of the galaxy, which keep him on the move for a long time, mostly distracted from the ghosts of his past.

They have little need of bounty hunters throughout the following year. Still, Vader cannot seem to let the matter go. What the matter is, you may ask? Why, it is the thought of the green Mandalorian standing nonplussed a couple of feet away, as if it were a sleep deprived, hungry stormtrooper with a faulty weapon next to him, and not Darth Vader himself, capable of demolishing entire battalions empty-handed, with only his mastery of the Force.

Perhaps the Mandalorian is completely deaf to the Force. If it isn’t directly applied to him (see: the art of force-choking), then the only other sensible explanation is that he must not be feeling it flowing around him at all!

Strange, but not impossible. Vader is almost entirely sure the Mandalorian is human, though he hasn’t actually seen him take off his helmet.

It doesn’t make sense.

Fortune smiles at Vader eventually and spares him the trouble of seeking out the bounty hunter himself.

He’s planetside, razing a rebel base to the ground, when the telltale sight of green, yellow and red reveals Boba Fett landing a couple of meters away in the smoke.

“Vader,” he says in greeting, slightly out of breath.

“Boba Fett.”

"I saw your ship coming this way three hours ago. I'm surprised to see you are still around."

It has been several hours since the rebel base became a smoking pile of bricks and metal, that is true. Unfortunately, it has also been just as many hours since Vader's transport blew up in the combined effort of the rebels to take him down with them. It was not good enough, but here is the Dark Lord, stuck on the ground until his officers from orbit respond to his transmission.

"Careful, bounty hunter. My patience is thinner than usual."

The Mandalorian laughs quietly. "When isn't it," he says, mostly to himself.

At a loss for words in the face of such a cocky display, all Vader can do is stare at him and struggle to not give in (yet) to the urge to rid the galaxy of Boba Fett, infamous bounty hunter.

Fett checks the completely deserted area with his visor, then hums in approval. "Well, it appears I'm done here. Thank you for the help."

"I did not do anything for you," Vader states haughtily. They happened to be in the same place, that is all. Besides, Vader would have taken care of them all anyway, Fett or no Fett around.

"Do you need a lift?"

Fett's ship is intriguing. Vader forgets his irritation for precisely three seconds after they lift off—the time it takes for it to rotate in the air, its inner compartments moving in an intricate pattern to adjust to flight mode. Once they are gaining altitude, annoyance resurfaces, if shallower. Tolerable.

"I need the clearance code, sir."

Vader gives him the code, then falls silent. He is far enough from the pilot's seat that he doesn't see Fett at all. It does not help, this distance, as the voice carries just fine through the ship, and the voice is enough.

Unbidden, a flutter of memories come back to him, of an old camaraderie, of bravery and courage, and of gentler, sadder things, from a time when he still had a heart.

“Coming up on the Star Destroyer now. Landing in five minutes,” Fett calls out.

_Shut up,_ he thinks, but what comes out is, “What were you doing here?”

“Initially, assassiantion, but you saved me the trouble, so I am merely free public transport, I suppose.”

“You offered your services,” Vader retorts, annoyed.

“Oh, no, I’m not asking for compensation. The description simply sounded adequate and,” Fett pauses briefly to—to laugh? Is he laughing in the cockpit?

_“And?”_ There is no humour in Vader’s voice.

“You made it clear you wanted to decide what is significant yourself, Lord Vader.”

The nerve of this man—!

“Landing in one!”

Vader walks out of Fett’s ship in a flurry. The confused stormtroopers and low-ranking officers all collectively hold their breath the moment they see who the bounty hunter has actually brought on board—by the tension running amuck in the Force, they must know the Dark Lord is probably not pleased by their lackluster efforts to return him to orbit.

Indeed, he is not pleased _at all._

* * *

Many things keep the Dark Lord awake. Usually, it is the simple, physical pain of being alive. Phantom limbs, phantom pains, sometimes phantom memories. More recently, he has been plagued by an idea, by a familiarity. A longing—he considers this word for all of two seconds before stuffing _that_ train of thought whence it came.

Some of these things he cannot change, but if he proves to himself it is merely a coincidence that this bounty hunter would sound like… Then it will be easier to ignore him. Give him no more restless nights’ worth of attention.

So, when Boba Fett next reports back to him, after barely listening to his words (instead, following the _sound_ of these words, like a fool), he decides enough is enough.

“Fett,” Vader calls out. It stops the bounty hunter with his back to him, about to leave. “Take off your helmet.”

A wave of confusion flows out from the Mandalorian. “Is there a problem, Lord Vader?” he asks, staying unnervingly still. He must know he has no chance at making it out of here with his life if he doesn’t comply.

“Turn around.”

“I don’t—”

"Do not make me repeat myself."

Slowly, the bounty hunter turns around. The paint on his armour is as shiny as always. Perhaps a few new scratches line the edge of his vambraces, if you were to look more closely. Dirt clings to his beige trousers, from ankle to mid-thigh.

He stands motionless, looking directly at Vader. Is he really looking at him behind that layer of durasteel? 

The Force trembles around Fett in uncertainty. 

Is this all Vader had to do to get him to understand the fear Vader instills in those around him? 

He steps closer until he towers over the Mandalorian. 

Anxiety spikes, but it is quickly quashed under control. Not fast enough that Vader doesn't catch it.

"Have I overstepped?" Fett asks. His hands hang by his sides, balled into fists.

Vader weaves the Force around Fett like a cage, moulded to his body, and traps him to the spot.

"I want to see whom the Empire depends on."

Fett finally realizes how thoroughly he is frozen in the Force. His struggle is internal, only the faintest traces of his growing fear making waves outside. Vader senses them, latches onto them and wants to drag them all out of him until everything makes sense again. 

"I have fulfilled my duties to the letter,” Fett insists.

"Indeed you have."

It takes the smallest of efforts to unclasp the helmet from the rest of his armour.

Fett breathes in sharply at the sound.

Finally.

Terror dances wildly around him when he realizes he cannot stop Vader.

What Vader wants, he gets, one way or another.

He lifts the helmet bit by bit, not so much dragging the act out to be cruel, but distracted by the glee it brings him to finally, _finally_ have Boba Fett recognize the difference in power between them.

Fett’s hair falls down past his ears, black, messy. Some of it falls over his forehead and in his eyes, hiding his face.

Vader reaches out with his own hand to sweep the strands to the side, but he freezes the moment the tips of his gloved fingers touch the bounty hunter’s brow.

The helmet clatters to the floor, no longer suspended by the Force.

This face, so unexpectedly known to him, is locked in fear. Fett’s eyes look on ahead, far into the distance, not seeing him at all. A trace of moisture at the corners is the only physical sign of the storm Vader picks up in the Force.

Vader’s breath is the only noise in the room for a good minute while they stand like that. He wanted this, but he never thought... If he were the sky, then every little star you can count at night in the desert would be another regret weighing him down. He has more than plenty of them—he doesn’t need another. Not one that would be so much harder to ignore.

“Is that all?” Fett asks flatly. Without his helmet, he sounds younger, and there is a touch of shakiness in his voice that he cannot hide no matter how empty he carves his stare to be.

The Force let him go a solid minute ago, when Vader’s control flickered, yet he remains still, unmoving. Resigned. Struggling to keep his breathing regular while the Dark Lord is less than an arm’s reach away.

“Vader,” he says, louder. His eyebrows twitch into a glare, which he smooths under control within the next blink. So quick to adapt, this bounty hunter. No wonder he is the one to stand here, in the penumbra, out of all the mercenaries the Empire has ever employed in its service.

Vader steps away, takes back his outstretched hand, and lets it fall down by his side, behind the cover of his cloak. Nobody has to see him clenching his fists. “Leave,” he growls, when it becomes apparent Fett has no intention of taking a single step.

Anger always comes and goes like the waves pulled in by the moon. It drowns him until it dilutes his thoughts and deafens his ears as if he were fully submerged under the weight of an ocean.

The bounty hunter picks up his helmet from the floor. He doesn’t put it back on. He doesn’t leave, either.

With the helmet underneath his right arm, he returns to Vader’s side, driven by such cold, calculated fury that Vader only stares back, wordless, as Fett stops less than a foot away in front of him.

“Is that all?” Fett repeats firmly, no longer hiding his glare. 

The light from the ceiling falls directly over his face, highlighting all the features Vader does not want to see anymore. Features he never wanted to see in the first place.

“Take a good look, sir, because the next time you see this face will be on my dead body.”

“Leave, before there is no next time.”

Boba Fett gives him the most disreputable mock salute he can muster, then finally leaves, taking everything with him.

**Author's Note:**

> I've long wanted to write something for them. The penny finally dropped last night, so here we are. This was the first time I tried to grasp & write Darth Vader's thought process and honestly, I mostly pictured a prideful black cat messing things up for everybody, himself included. You think you know what you want, but then...
> 
> Inspired by the very je m'en fiche behaviour Boba Fett has re: working for the Empire that I noticed in several comics.
> 
> Thank you for reading!! ♥♥ Tell me your thoughts! :3c


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